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Hal Bentley, when I wrote to him for a key to this place, told me of your being here, and said that I was to put myself under your protection." Mr. Magee arranged a bow, most of which was lost in the dark. "Delighted, I'm sure," he murmured. "I shall try not to impose on you," she went on. "The whole affair is so unusual as to be almost absurd. But Mr. Bentley said that you were very kind.
And then a walk in the morning has always been my first rule for health. You don't mind, do you?" "Who am I," asked Magee, "that I should stand between you and health? Come along, by all means." With the blue corduroy suit again complete, and the saucy hat perched on her blond head, Miss Norton ran down the stairs and received the news that Mr.
Should a window of my room be open at any time to-morrow, you will know the money is in my hands." "Very good," replied the other. "Good night and good luck." "The same to you," answered Professor Bolton. The door was closed, and the old man moved off down the passageway. After him crept Mr. Magee. He followed the professor to the east balcony, and saw him pause at the open window of number seven.
A silence like that of the tomb had descended. He recalled stories of men who went mad from loneliness. What place lonelier than this? The wind howled along the balcony. It rattled the windows. Outside his door lay a great black cave in summer gay with men and maids now like Crusoe's island before the old man landed. "Alone, alone, all, all alone," quoted Mr. Magee.
D'ye know, I felt drawn to you, just after I fired that first shot. That's why I didn't blaze away again. We're going to be great friends I can read it in the stars." He took the older man's hand feelingly, shook it, and walked away, casting a covert glance of triumph at Mr. Magee. The face of the holder of the Crandall Chair of Comparative Literature was a study.
The electric signs were pasting lurid legends on a long suffering sky; the taxis were spraying throats with gasoline; the traffic cop at Broadway and Forty-second Street was madly earning his pay. Mr. Magee got up and walked the floor. New York!
Though the paper had been long on the street, the excitement of the greatest coup of years still lingered in the place. Magee saw the deferential smiles that greeted the girl, and watched her as she made her way to the city editor's desk. In a moment she was back at his side. "I've got my assignment," she smiled ruefully. They descended to the street.
'No, it was a nice little purse I had had for a long time, but thanks to your husband there was nothing in it. An Irish story of Magee's concerns an Orange clergyman in Fermanagh, who asked leave to preach a sermon by Magee. Now, this clergyman, who was an ambitious man, was rather ashamed of his mother, and would not let her live at the parsonage, but had taken lodgings for her in the town.
Magee lay for a few moments listening to his preparations about the fireplace. This was comfort, he thought. And yet, something was wrong. Was it the growing feeling of emptiness inside? Undoubtedly. He sat up in bed and leaning over, gazed into the hermit's basket. The packages he saw there made his feeling of emptiness the more acute. "I say, Mr.
"Good evening, Professor," said Magee easily. "Don't you find it rather cool with the window open?" "Mr. Magee," replied the much wrapped gentleman, "I am that rather disturbing progressive a fresh air devotee. I feel that God's good air was meant to be breathed, not barricaded from our bodies." "Perhaps," suggested Magee, "I should have left the window open?" The old man regarded him narrowly.
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